Paintbrush
by thelostlolli
Summary: That wide blank space suddenly was painted with an aesthetically pleasing color of blue, just by a few magical strokes of a paintbrush. Watching her paint was charismatic. [[Robin and Raven.]]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclamier**: Teen Titans belong to CN and DC Comics.

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That wide blank space suddenly was painted with an aesthetically pleasing color of blue, just by a few magical strokes of a paintbrush. Watching her paint was charismatic. Whenever she painted, she had a smile on her face, even if the painting was about chaos and destructions going on in the world, which was, currently, what she was painting.

She put down her paintbrush, and picked up a smaller one from the tray that was placed on the table next to her. Little by little, she colored in the small areas that were once blank. The pigments were released on the painting, and the colors trailed the paintbrush that she controlled, creating her own world.

"Grayson, you're skipping lunch again." She said, too engrossed in her painting, not bordering to look at me.

"So are you, _Rae-Rae_." I replied, emphasizing the little nickname that I gave her years ago.

She put down her paintbrush, and glared at me. I sat still, emotionless. Most would be fear that glare, frightened that something unfortunate would happen to them. However, I had known Raven for years, and she hadn't done anything to me except giving me an empty threat once in every while.

"You know your _friends_ would miss you." She said harshly.

"You're my friend too, Raven."

"A friend that hides in the Art Room every day at lunch."

"So?"

I knew she didn't just come in the Art Room everyday to hide; she came in so she could paint. For a while, the school had been wondering about the art supplies' sudden disappearance and why the Art Room's door would unlock itself during lunch. Terra, one of my friends yet one of Raven's worst enemies, later on discovered the reason behind it, and reported it to the principal. Me, of course, being the son of a billionaire, covered this with my father's money. Funny, how money can affect people.

She continued her painting in silence. I looked over her shoulder and saw that the painting was not what I had in mind at all. The sky was blue, with dark colored clouds, buildings collapsed, and yet people were just walking around as if it wasn't irregular at all. However, what actually attracted my attention was, there was a little girl in the center of the painting, teddy bear in hand, staring at the shattered city emotionlessly.

Had that been what Raven was feeling?

"Raven, what _is_ this?"

"It's a painting, smart one."

"Of course it's a painting. What I'm asking is, what is going on in this painting?"

"You must be blind." She turned around, and stared at me.

Was I really? Was there some sort of concept behind it, and I just couldn't see?

I looked down at Raven's hand, seeing a sheet of paper with the title "**ART CONTEST**" big and bold on the top. She rolled her eyes at me, and I took the paper. Skimming it, I saw the first place winner would receive one thousand dollars as a price. Before I could read any more of it, she snatched it away from my hands.

"Art contest?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

It didn't make much sense to me at the time – I knew Raven would never enter art contests, because she once told me that it limited her from her imagination and creativity. She liked to do everything her way, especially in painting.

"Because I need money."

"For what?" I asked, more curious than ever. She could have just simply asked me for some, if it was necessary.

"My mother."

Her mother? For the past six years, I hadn't heard of her talking about her mother. It seemed strange just by hearing the word "mother" out of her mouth. She avoided topics about her mother, and certainly avoided Mother's Day. I had never met her mother, and I always wondered if she had ever mentioned me in front of her.

Maybe.

Probably not.

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, I can tell. Look, Raven, I am just trying to help you. Why won't you let me?"

"Stay out of my personal life, Richard, or you will regret it."

With that statement said, she picked up her paint tray and paintbrushes, and started cleaning up. Perhaps, she was right, I shouldn't step into someone else's life. It wasn't my life, it was theirs' – Their decisions, their paths, their hopes and dreams. But wasn't I involved in this particular life? I was Raven's friend, and she was mine. Not only did I have the desire to help her, helping her was probably a necessity.

Or so I thought.

I picked up the paint bottles that was covered with dried paint all over the caps, put them back where they were before, and got ready for the next class as the bell rang.

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I couldn't stop thinking about _it_ that night. I couldn't even sleep. The simply yet complicated word kept reappearing in my mind – _Why?_ Knowing and trying to understand Raven was like solving an equation with an answer of "no solution" or an infinity number, and I was desperately thinking that there must be a correct answer. By mid-night, I was already asleep. No matter how I tried, Raven's issues ate me while I slept. What was wrong with me? Or better yet, what was wrong with _her_?

Faintly, I heard a familiar continuous sound. What was it? I couldn't remember.

All of the sudden, I sat up and hopped off my bed. "Seven- thirty", my digital alarm clock displayed. Was I asleep for that long? It certainly didn't seem like it. Maybe _it_ honestly was eating me alive, taking away my energy and time. Feeling somewhat tired, I dragged myself to the bathroom.

By the time when I was done getting ready, it was already seven fifty-five. I ran to get my breakfast. In most cases, I would skip breakfast. Skipping breakfast for a day or two couldn't hurt much, could it? Of course not! However, it wasn't just "a day or two", it was every single day. Ever since Bruce, my father, discovered about my morning eating habits by our butler, Alfred, I was forbidden to skip breakfast from then.

I sat down at the table, and picked up the fork. Staring at the food, I froze. I didn't freeze because the food appeared to be unpalatable; Alfred was great at cooking. No, I froze because the problem with Raven and her mother occurred in my mind once again. When was it going to leave me alone?

It honestly drove me insane to a point where I could explode at any time like a volcano.

"Hm. Glad they finally caught the thief." A tough voice said, and I snapped back to reality. I looked at my father, his eyes glued to the morning paper that he was reading.

"Thief?" I said, in a questioning manner.

"Yes, thief, like your oh-so _wonderful_ friend."

I knew he was talking about Raven. Bruce never truly liked Raven, even though he pretended as if he did in front of her. He hated her for her broken family, her look, her personality, and especially her mother, which I always caught asking myself in bewilderment, "How could he have met Raven's mother when I haven't?" I tried questioning about it to Bruce, and the result ended up with a lot yelling and shouting all night that made me almost go deaf.

After the art supplies stealing incident, he loathed her more than ever.

"She's only going to ruin your life, Richard." He said.

"Ruin my life? How exactly, may I ask?" I replied. I was fumed, of course, but I tried to hide it.

"She's nothing more than an annoying rat in the basement."

"Don't you dare compare her to a rat!" By that time, I was already on my feet, my fists slamming on the table. It was a few moments later I realized that I was acting impulsively. I picked up my backpack from the cold marble floor, and stomped my way out of the house in a furious mood without even saying goodbye.

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It was only first period, and I had already begun avoiding Raven.

I knew I shouldn't, but Raven's issues and what my father had said to me this morning added more pressure on my shoulders. I felt like a balance, both side were equally heavy, and I was just waiting for someone to add some more weight on a certain side, just enough weight to make me collapse, imbalanced.

Raven, somehow, did not notice my erratic behavior, or simply did not care at all. I sat in the front roll, next to my friend, Kori. Normally, I would try to get Kori and Raven to sit by me. Of course, Kori was very easy to get along with, and she would do anything for a friend or to make a new friend. However, the challenge was to get Raven to sit with her. I succeed a few times, though most of the time; I would have to choose whom to sit with for that hour.

With Kori's cheerful voice, I fell into a conversation with her immediately. During our conversation, I didn't look once to see if Raven was staring (or glaring) at me with her cold lilac eyes. I didn't dare to.

When the bell rang, I instantly rushed out of the classroom, and went to my next class. Walking slowly, tired from the running, I sat down on one of the wooden chairs in the classroom. Would I have to do this until the end of high school? _How_ can I do it? I couldn't possibly run everyday of my life, just to avoid a girl, could I?

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It was lunch before I knew it. So far, we hadn't said a single word to each other. Walking down the hall, I noticed it was unfilled with crowds of students (Was I really walking that slow that everyone had left but me?). It was unusually silent, except for the sounds coming from the Art Room. As if a black hole was sucking me in, I walked into the Art Room without any controls over my body.

There she was, sitting on a stool, working on one of her soon-to-be-amazing paintings. She picked up a bigger paintbrush than the ones that she would usually use, and splattered slops of paint. The colors that she used were randomly being chosen, I assumed. Red, white, yellow, black, green, blue, and every bottle of colors that were available in the Art Room were placed on the floor and on the tables, waiting impatiently to be used by the painter, acrylic paint on canvas. What was she trying to do? An imitation of Jackson Pollock?

She splattered the paints as I stood in the back of the room. When she was done, she put her hand down, still holding the paintbrush, and took a step back. She had run out of paint.

The entire process to create that "amazing" painting took no more than twenty minutes. She wasted bottles of paint in only twenty minutes? My eyes traveled from the paint bottles, to the floor, where grips of splattered paint were could be found, and then to the painting. By the time that I actually took notice of what Raven was doing, clear crystal-like water were running down her light pink cheeks, down her lips, and finally reached her chin, falling down on the ground.

If I were a good friend, wouldn't I give her a hug at a time like this? I was acting the exact opposite of what I should be; I just stood there, staring at her as she sobbed. My entire body froze. She was sobbing like I had never seen before, and yet I just stood still, not comforting her. Shouldn't I go up to her and say "no matter what, I will still be here for you"? What was going on with me?

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A/N: Problem with my writings is that I am just making it up as I type/write. I have no real plans for it, no real intentions to finish it. This is crappy, **_I know_**. This is as far as my ability to write can get. Don't leave me immature reviews like "dis sucks! 11!"

So, comments on _Paintbrush_?

_- Rawr. Sheepy in square dancing to be Broadway stars, of course, my dear._


	2. Chapter 2

I went home that night, still ignoring my father, ran straight to my room. That night, I didn't even eat dinner. Alfred was kind enough to bring food to my room, but I left it gradually turn from warm to cold on my plate.

Bruce was too engrossed with his work, as always, to notice that I was practically dying in my room. I was confused, and yet, angry at the same time. Angry at the way how Bruce never cared about me, angry at how Raven was hiding her "personal life" away from me, angry at how stupid I was for fighting with Bruce that morning, however, the most of all, I was angry at myself.

I was stupid.

Why should I help Raven if she didn't want any help? Why should I bother? I did the best that I could as a friend. At the least, I can say that I tried.

Bruce's opinions didn't really matter, did it? He had always wanted me to be a clone of his, to follow his footsteps. It was almost as if he had my own life planned out for me. He wanted me to be around the kind of people that he preferred, wanted me to dress the way he would dress, wanted me to be him.

But I wasn't him.

I was Richard. Richard Grayson, the person who had a best friend named Raven, the person who had experienced the loss of two parents, and the person who gave up his life to start a new one.

Certainly, Raven was still on my mind. I really did care about her. I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand, and dialed her numbers. I waited for at least five minutes until someone picked up.

And that person was not Raven.

It was a man's voice, I could tell. Then, I heard, in the background, a girl's scream. It wasn't a loud scream, but it was a scream. Did I dial the wrong numbers?

"Who do you want?" the voice on the other end said in an angry voice. It was such a deep and serious voice that it almost scared me. Judging from the way the man greeted me; I was probably calling in at the wrong time.

"Uh, I think I dialed the wrong number." With that said, I quickly hung up.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Update. That's a surprise. I no longer read or write TT fanfictions. So the only reason why I am updating this is that I found this while cleaning the files on my laptop. I was going to add a little bit more to it, but I gave up. I honestly don't expect anyone to read or review this chapter, because _a._ the Teen Titans fandom is dead. _b._ this isn't a great chapter.

**Disclaimer**: Teen Titans belongs to DC Comics and Cartoon Network.


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